Sproing! Whoosh!

Wednesday was meant to be my penultimate day of cycling to work in Edinburgh.

It didn't start well. Coming down the final stretch of road before my destination, a fast downhill at about 20mph, three separate cars in the space of 300m either didn't look or didn't give a damn and pulled out in front of my brightly lit, fluorescently clad but still very vulnerable self.

Cyclists, from the motorist's point of view, can be very annoying. They are slow (relatively speaking), they can be inconsiderate, they sometimes weave in and out of traffic or run red lights. Newsflash: apart from the slowness (and even that's optional), road users in cars are guilty of all these things and more. Whatever their faults, cyclists are also helping to reduce congestion, carbon emissions and NHS costs. Most importantly, they are fellow road users and uniquely vulnerable road users. The Highway Code accords them all the rights of motorists (except going on motorways and dual carriageways) and a few more that reflect that vulnerability.

Why is it, then, that so many motorists forget that?

The day didn't end well, either, though in a different sort of way. No marauding cars this time, but a short way into my journey there was a sproing, followed by a whoosh. My wheel had buckled, one of the spokes had broken and shot up through the tyre, ripping both the inner and outer. I was able to fix the tyre, but it left me with a dilemma. If one spoke had gone, another was likely to go. Should I finish my ride, or give up and go by train?

I didn't want to lose one of my remaining chances at getting some training in, and I figured I could make the bike last at least for the rest of the ride. I decided to carry on. I thought the wheel would last, and the bike is booked in for a service tomorrow anyway. I was almost right. I got within sight of the hotel: Sproing! Whoosh! A second spoke, a second puncture, a rather more badly buckled wheel. It could be an expensive service.